


Ablaze

by waywardflower



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Don't hide from your friends when they're trying to help, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Better, No Sex, Omega Lance (Voltron), Omega heats suck, Platonic Relationships, Pushing People Away Because You Hate Yourself: The Movie, Shame, Sickness, Suicidal Ideation, Team is a Family, minor self-harm, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardflower/pseuds/waywardflower
Summary: He can't burden them like this. He'll be good, he'll be fine by himself and he just has to show them that and they'll leave him. Lance wants their attention, craves it, needs it to survive with his stupid omega body, but he can't stand the thought of needing it....Lance goes into heat.





	Ablaze

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I should definitely be working on Deadly, but I'm not. School is really hard.
> 
> Things that need to be cleared up:  
> \- this is a oneshot  
> \- there is no sex  
> \- omega heat is closer to a period than it is portrayed conventionally. it doesn't make you horny, it makes you depressed and sick and tired, and if you already hate yourself, it's even worse. haha. not that that's relevant to the story at all.
> 
> k that's basically it. happy reading, read and review.

Ablaze

Lance had not gone into heat since he was twelve, and begged his parents to put him on suppressants after what had been the worst week of his life.

It wasn't like they hadn't taken _care_ of him during the agony. They had hugged, cuddled, cleaned, snuggled as much as they could in their busy family. Three out of his four sisters were omegas, they were very patient about it, _really_. Lance's parents were a pair of betas who fell in love over the surgery tables of the hospital they worked at, so of course they knew the intricacies of heat and coddled him as much as their schedules and commitment to his siblings allowed.

 

Lance hated being the second priority to their job, to his family. He hated that his parents' job, which saved lives, was more important than him, but he hated that little jealousy. He hated that his parents had to take time off work to help him through the first three heats that claimed him in a frenzy of pain. He hated that he needed it, unlike his _precious_ older brother Ernesto, whose superior alpha body never begged for affection.

 

At thirteen Lance had begged for suppressants, because he'd evaluated, and the cost was less than the time off work, the burden was less when he wasn't so needy anymore.

 

His plan was fantastic. The suppressants worked, throughout his entire time in the Garrison. Lance may not have been the best at anything else, but he took his pills on time, as prescribed. He had no episodes, not even the barest whisper of a heat. The Garrison may still not respect him, but at least he wasn't treated like an omega. He'd been free.

 

Then came Voltron.

 

Now, being part of a team that assembled five giant lions into one robot superweapon was wicked cool, don't get him wrong. But there'd been no warning, no time at all, and Lance missed home.

 

And Lance missed a vital dosage of his medications.

 

The first two weeks of their time together as a team was no problem. Well. There were problems, but nothing related to his omega...ness. Actually, the first month had been fine in that singular aspect, while everything else went to hell.

 

Once they'd finally rounded up Keith from their fun wormhole misadventures, the castle, lions, and Paladins themselves all needed rest and repair. Keith had a broken arm from crashing in his Lion, Pidge had been half-starved on her planet, Hunk was sick and Shiro was having just a really bad time in general. He had a lot on his plate, with the whole black lion situation, the flashbacks and PTSD. Lance really felt sorry for their battle-worn leader.

 

Lance himself had no problems. He'd been kind of helping his teammates, but mostly hiding in his room alone. Not that anything was wrong, there was pretty much nothing wrong. Well. He had a killer headache, but that could be solved with painkillers and some water. ~~_Except it wasn't._~~ He felt a little warm, but he just changed out of his armor into his earth-clothes and that was fine, too. ~~_He was really starting to burn up._~~ Then his stomach started feeling seriously queasy, so he asked Coran for the Altean equivalent of pepto Bismo, which was lime green, tasted like slug, and smelled like eucalyptus. ~~_Yeah, he didn't take his chances with that one, he already knew he'd throw up if he tried to swallow it._~~

 

So life went on as usual, the Paladins got better, and they had all recovered enough by Thursday of that week to have a castle dinner. Lance was relieved.

 

...

 

Dinner is a quiet affair, with each paladin struggling through their own troubles.

 

"So... How ya feelin, big guy?"

 

Hunk smiles at Lance, though the tiredness is clear.

 

"Better. Still feeling a little queasy, but nothing a good round of dinner won't fix!"

 

Pidge looks up. "Speaking of which, where's Coran? Is he getting food? Does he need help with that? I think he needs help with that." Pidge scoots out of her chair, not even pushing it back in, Lance thinks mock-tuttingly. She is obviously excited about dinner, which is saying something. Alien food is... _Disgusting_.

 

Coran comes stumbling in, even with Pidge's help. Platter upon platter is stacked on the alien's head and arms, all swaying with Coran himself. Lance smirks and waits. He doesn't even notice how spiteful he's feeling, waiting for the alien to drop everything.

 

Coran must stumble or something, because Keith suddenly stands, arm up to assist. Unfortunately for _Keith_ , he raises the wrong arm, and his unbending cast smacks one third of their meal onto the ground. Pidge looks devastated. And greener than usual, thanks to the slime. But seriously, the poor beta looks like she's about to tear up, jeez.

 

Oh. Oh, man that's making him feel guilty. Oh no, he's feeling _sympathy_. 

 

Lance heaves a sigh, as though accepting some huge burden. "It's okay, Pidge. You can eat mine. I'm not really feeling very hungry."

 

The smallest Paladin beams at him, rising quickly. A red-faced Keith helps set the table, and then the meal begins. Lance pokes at his significantly smaller portion, watching it writhe around on his plate.

 

So, it's going to be another live meal, huh? _Not for long._

 

He viciously stabs the wormy creature, but it doesn't stop moving. Instead, fuzzy violet innards spill out, spread by the squirmy insect-thing. Oh, nasty.

 

Lance makes a face, then looks up to see Shiro, eyebrow raised in an expression that captures disapproval and disgust.

 

The blue paladin ducks his head, spearing his dying meal onto the strange prongs of the Altean fork, and tries to avoid looking at it before shoving it in.

 

Wait- that's actually... Good?

 

It's a perfect balance of salty and sweet, and okay the aesthetics could use work but the taste, just. Wow.

 

Lance spoons some more into his mouth, and finds all eyes on him.

 

"Lance. How are you doing that?" Shiro sounds vaguely alarmed.

 

"Uh?" Lance is brilliant, but there are no real contextual clues here. Allura looks vaguely impressed.

 

"How are you- I mean. Um. You seem to really like the food, is all," Keith recovers.

 

"What, don't you? It's great, it's like sweet and salty popcorn."

 

"It really... Isn't," says Pidge. They look green again, and it's not just because of the goo splatters this time. The green paladin looks like she might just hurl all over the table, so Lance angles his plate carefully away from her.

 

Hunk gets this really strange look on his face, and then leans forward a little to inspect Lance's plate. He looks back and forth, to compare, and Lance starts scooting his plate away from the big guy.

Man, but he's in between them. Potential barf or potential thief? Thief, he decides, and slides it back toward Hunk in favor of staying out of Pidge's range.

 

Maybe that was a bad move. Hunk leans closer, sniffing his food and then raising his head and sniffing up still. Wait! Was Hunk scenting him?!

 

Hunk's eyebrows pinched together, then up, and he leaned back in his chair as though surprised. Lance shifts his weight in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Worried, really. About what Hunk might have smelled. About why Lance might be smelling. Hunk is a beta, but a beta's nose is just as in tune with the other sexes as any.

 

"Guys. I like the food, is all. Okay?" He breaks off, feeling a little crowded, because all of a sudden everyone leans forward toward him.

 

Shiro snaps away first, head moving to shake an invisible haze away. "Alright, alright," he cajoles, in a dadly, Shiro way. "Let Lance eat in peace." When everyone else concedes, he wonders if that last command had a little alpha to it. He tries to push down his jealousy.

 

With his team backing off, Lance breathes easier, but Hunk keeps shooting him confused looks, so Keith, across from him, shoots Hunk and Lance confused looks while Pidge pretends not to notice so she can keep being the favorite child for good ol' Shiro.

 

Lance finishes his food, stomach satisfied, yet churning with anxiety ~~and probably a little overlap from his previous tummy-troubles~~.

 

He's fine until Hunk corners him about it later and says "Dude, you smell weird. Like, secondary weird. Are you okay?" Lance heats up ~~though he's been rather warm lately anyway~~ and he burns embarrassedly, until he channels anger because he doesn't need Hunk's concern, thanks.

 

"I'm fine, dude. Leave me alone."

 

"Hey man, if you say it's all cool, it's all cool. I just wanted to make sure. If you ever need to talk about it-"

 

"Just mind your own business, Hunk!" And oh, Lance doesn't know where that outburst just came from but his stomach sinks with shame when he sees Hunk's face, hurt and befuddled.

 

"I'm sorry," spits the blue paladin, cooling down too quickly. "I need some space."

 

The inexplicable rage is gone, the burning in his chest cool and hollow. He storms down the hallway, unaware of his space until he crashes into Keith, who was talking to Pidge about something before he'd been bowled over.

 

"Whoa! What's got you in a hurry?" and "Hey! Watch where you're going!" are two perfect rationable, normal, nonoffensive things to say in Pidge and Keith's situation. To Lance, who's just figured it all out, and is on the verge of insanity (tears), they may as well have been interrogating him while also challenging him to a duel. He doesn't explode, can't explode with the same fire as he'd detonated in Hunk, but he musters up the same irritation, the same panic and need for space.

 

"Leave me alone, Pidge. And screw off, Keith. I don't need tips from you, _mullet_." That doesn't even make sense, but boy does it have an effect.

 

"What the hell? _You_ just crashed into _us!_ " yells Pidge.

 

"I said LEAVE ME _ALONE!_ " Lance is about to lose it.

 

Keith's eyes are hard, purple steel and his mouth draws up into an angry line. He's all alpha, pretentious and fierce and intimidating, when he growls "What's got you acting like such a _bitch_?"

 

Oh no. Oh no he did not. Lance is so not a bitch. And right now, he is so, so angry. The inferno in his chest is back, and he's about to go supernova. He opens his mouth, bares his teeth at Keith, and _snarls_.

 

Pidge gasps, Keith freezes, and Lance thinks he may have just died.

 

"La-" Keith doesn't get the word out, because Lance is already sprinting away, as fast as he can. He can't do this, not now, and he dashes straight to his quarters before slamming the door shut hard enough that the walls quake and something breaks and maybe it's the vase that just fell on the floor in the hallway outside the door maybe it's something in his room, in his chest, in his soul. Lance just snarled at Keith like he really is the dumb bitch Keith thinks he is, and now he can't breathe right.

 

The blaze is gone for sure now, he can breathe, his chest is free and he just wants to be alone. He yanks at his desk, braces his feet on the adjoined wall and pulls, then pushes the desk into place in front of the door. The distressed paladin braces a chair there, too, then says 'screw it' and pushes his whole bed against, for extra security. If he maneuvers it right, it'll work so that even if they manage to get the door a little open, the bed braces against the wall, and stops any further progress.

 

Then he strips off his jacket, and his pants, and sits in the bathtub with nothing but his boxers and a shirt. Already, he started leaking, from what feels like everywhere. He's sweating, but there's also a distinct dampness in his underwear that makes him want to cut off his whole lower half. It's fine, it's natural, this is what happens to omegas, it's not his fault he can't control his bladder, or his sweating, or his vomiting, that's just how his omega body works. And then the tears start, because if he isn't leaking from every place in his body, he's not suffering right. He's so angry, but he's so tired, and his headache has gotten a lot worse, so Lance lets himself nod off in the bathtub.

 

...

 

Lance wakes up probably like half an hour later, when he's so cold his entire body vibrates and shudders right off the edge where his head has been resting. The blue paladin shuffles out of his bathroom to retrieve his blankets, hears a hammering on his door, ignores the hammering, groans a little, grabs the comforter and stumbles back inside his bathroom. This time he closes the door, so he can't hear whatever crap his teammates are shouting into his bedroom.

 

The blankets are good, even if they're getting slimier with him in them. He can wash blankets, but he can't wash his mattress, so it's a good trade.

 

Lance is freezing, even with the blankets, and feels kind of small and lost. He really hates it. He really, truly hates his heat and his omega body and it may have been five years but he still remembers enough to know that this is worse than it had ever been. He's leakier than usual, colder than usual, emptier than usual, and he feels like his entire body is being sucked in on itself, squeezing out his innards into goop as he shrinks.

 

Lance wants so badly to brush it off with the flair he would on any other day. But his body makes it impossible, filled to the brim as he is with all these _emotions_. He wishes he could deny his secondary sex, force away this weakness with hyper masculinity and strength and some AXE, like he'd been doing at the Garrison. But off his suppressants, Lance is nothing more than a pitiful, pathetic, pining omega in heat.

 

Even the disgusting amount of body fluid just _oozing_ from his _everywhere_ , and the horrible, sinking, empty sensation in his chest, and the headache and sore muscles and the _smell_ was not as bad as Lance's sheer hatred for himself.

 

Lance suddenly becomes aware of a low keening, coming from his own traitorous mouth. He bites his tongue viciously, or tries to, and when that doesn't work he puts his fingers to the underside of his arm, between his armpit and elbow, and _pinches_. Yelping, he pinches again and grits his teeth. The whine stops. Unfortunately, the pain works against him, and he lurches forward to vomit, trying to keep his blankets out of the splatter zone and failing. He moans, then furiously pinches his thigh to stop. Ugh, but his boxers are wet and everything smells terrible.

 

Teeth chattering, Lance clenches his jaw. He starts to shiver and slaps his forearm. Tears poison his eyes, and he claws desperately at his wrist to catch the sob, but fails. It isn't enough, it's not working, he needs **more**. His eyes fall on his razor. Maybe-

 

Everything stills.

 

That is a really big step, he thinks. A step too far, possibly. But if it would stop him from crying, from the terrible pain he was suffering, from his existence as a useless, worthless, omega, maybe-

 

There's a crash, then the sound of furniture groaning. His bedframe, creaking, as someone pushes the door in hard enough to strain. A pause, then hammering at his bathroom door.

 

He almost shouts 'just a minute!' But then can't muster up the effort. His eyes flick back to the razor, and he would reach forward, but it's so far away.  Also, there's a puddle of something nasty at his feet that he doesn't want to acknowledge.

 

Lance curls in on himself, sick of the pounding, and tucks the blankets tighter. Something squishes beneath him, and the shivers start up again. He's still shuddering, mesmerized by the glinting metal when the door slams open, a shocked looking Pidge shouting " _Lance!_ "

 

She shouts something at the others, then leaves Lance, sitting in misery with his eyes closed.

 

Hunk shouts something, and he hears Pidge struggling with something. There's a groan from the door, and a crack, and Lance wonders if that was the sound of Hunk breaking the bed with his door. Footsteps, frantic, closer, and Lance retreats further into his puddle of misery.

 

There's a gasp, from Keith maybe. The omega could just die of shame, honestly.

 

"Lance!" Shiro says, and there's command in his voice, "Can you hear me?"

 

Lance doesn't want to respond, doesn't want to be here in this body with these people at this time, but his stupid. body. doesn't. listen. His mouth opens, and he sobs out "yes," fighting it every step of the way.

 

"Lance, we need to get you out of here," Hunk tells him.

 

That cold, broken feeling in his chest says 'help,' but Lance says "Leave me alone."

 

Keith growls lowly, and the blue paladin cowers into the blankets again. It's not fair, it's not fair and he hates the alpha, how dare he take advantage of this. How dare his body respond.

 

"Lance. You're going to get up, and we're going to help you. Open your eyes." His tone is firm, but there's an undercurrent of worry (???). Lance tries so hard, but he finds himself standing up, pulled up into the red paladin's steady grasp.

 

When Keith looks him in the eye, the spell is broken, and Lance starts crying again. The red paladin looks concerned, and here Shiro steps in.

 

"Pidge, take his blankets away to be washed. Keith, grab him some fresh clothes, just boxers and a t-shirt, and some more blankets. We're moving him to the living room, but bring the clothes here." 

 

Shiro waits for everybody to clear out. "Lance, we're going to turn on the shower. It's going to burn a little at first, but when you're mostly clean we'll get you dried off and redressed."

 

True enough, the hot water stings. They take his shirt off first, and Lance can feel Shiro's disapproval at the bruising and scratching on his arms. Both Paladins are gentle with the omega, supporting him and speaking in low murmurs.

 

"Lance, what you did was really dangerous," says Hunk. "You could've died from heat sickness. You're too cold right now, you overburned. You need to be careful. Your body can't handle that kind of strain."

 

Filter off, Lance doesn't even register the danger of mumbling "maybe I don't want to live in this body anymore" until Shiro's grip tightens on his upper arm.

 

"Lance..." Shiro sounds sad, tired. No, wait, Shiro's been tired, this whole time, and Lance is stressing him out. Oh no, no no no. Hunk is sick, but he's stuck taking care of Lance. Oh no, he's- he's-

 

He's a burden.

 

Lance slumps, ignoring a prodding "Lance?"

 

He can't burden them like this. He'll be good, he'll be fine by himself and he just has to show them that and they'll leave him. ~~Lance wants their attention, craves it, needs it to survive with his stupid omega body, but he can't stand the thought of needing it.~~

 

When Keith brings the clothes, he doesn't muster up enough energy to be embarrassed, just lets Hunk help him change and dry off. Everything's looking pretty bleak, as Shiro and Hunk help him hobble to the Altean equivalent of a living room. Pidge is there, with a bucket and piles of blankets, and stands up when she sees their little entourage.

 

The omega's silence is broken when she rushes him, arms clinging desperately.

 

"What are you doing?" he whispers sadly into her hair.

 

Pidge doesn't answer, but he is lead to the couch and wrapped up like a Lance-shaped sushi roll.

 

"You guys shouldn't do this," he mumbles. "You're tired and sick and hurt. You should be taking care of yourselves."

 

"Hey Lance," says Pidge. "You're right. We're hurt you didn't tell us, and sick and tired of you pushing us away. We care about you, dummy. We're taking care of our team."

 

Lance's stupid omega eyes prick, and leak, and he curses them again. They all pile together, a voltron-paladin-blanket puddle and Lance is in the middle. Hunk sniffles, then sneezes, and Shiro laughs. Hunk pokes his best friend until he finally scoots over, and the blue paladin leans gingerly on him. Shiro takes his other side while Pidge deposits herself on top of his legs, flinging her own across Shiro. Keith takes Hunk's side, and settles down quietly.

 

His body is warming up, finally. Lance tries hard to choke back the tears, and lets them take care of him for now. Aches soothed, he drifts into a heavy slumber.

 

...

 

Lance wakes up what must be a few hours later, and his teammates are all asleep beside him. He's warm, content, but then he becomes aware of the urge to empty his bladder. He's shocked, actually, that he managed to hold it this long, especially with his heat. But he knows he's gotta go, or he'll probably lose it all over the floor.

 

Pidge looks up from her computer when he shifts his legs. She takes the headphones off and asks "What are you doing?"

 

"Bathroom," he tells her, straight-faced as he can get, then "do you ever sleep?"

 

Pidge stands up, letting him rise to his feet. "Yeah. It's hard sometimes. But I do."

 

Lance nods, then shuffles a weird run-walk as he tries not to upset his bladder. When he gets to the bathroom, he hop-skips over the threshold, legs closed, then does his business.

 

It's around this time that the shivers start coming back. Thinking clearly, Lance would've known to turn back, to remember Hunk's words. He'd overheated, so his body wasn't functioning the same way it would in a heat, and now he needed even more physical comfort. Being Lance, however, he isn't thinking clearly. He's thinking under the effects of heat, overheating, and several years' worth of severe hatred.

 

Lance starts walking back to where the others are, shivering and angry again. It's all back to the beginning, like they've never hugged him. Like he's never felt the warmth of their love. He feels alone, in this strange alien castle, and hates his body for what it's done. 

 

He pinches that sensitive skin on the underside of his arm, that never fails to hurt, suppressing a whimper. He scrubs at his eyes, too, when tears blur his vision. Resorting quickly to slapping his wrist, Lance fights desperately to keep the sobs at bay. Not now. Not today, please.

 

He loathes this body, its headaches, leakings, and weaknesses. He hates his mind, emotional and tearful and submissive.

 

The slapping isn't working, so Lance tries the inside of his thigh, which works as far as a few gasps before the high whine comes out anyway. It's not enough, the pain isn't enough to stop this body from its various complaints, and he won't go crawling back to the others with his problems.

 

Now, he remembers. He remembers, just a few hours ago, in his little bathroom, before Hunk had pushed in the door enough for Pidge to slip through, before Shiro had joined to help shove the door in, before Keith had pulled Lance out of his nest with his stupid alpha-ness.

 

The razor.

 

Again, everything stills. This time, the omega takes note. Just the idea of that one little step too far, and his body stops. The very notion, and the whimpering, whining, aching nuisance is out on hold.

 

And Lance thinks, hey, the razor is back where he left it, back where it should be, in his bathroom, on the shelf in the shower. But his rambling stroll has taken him two hallways away from a staircase, and he knows those hurt just as good.

 

He can't pass up the opportunity. Shuffling over, he reaches the stairs, and is a little nonplussed to find the lights already on. Like... They're waiting for him. Like this is where he's meant to be.

 

Lance wonders idly, as he rounds the corner of the staircase, if this fall will kill him. He doesn't know if he cares. One deep breath, closed eyes. Head first will probably do more damage, right?

 

He opens his eyes.

 

_Keith is standing below him._

 

"What-What are you _doing_ here?" He croaks, the shuddering starting up again.

 

"I would ask the same, but I already know. Blue told me." Keith's tone is even, but he had to have run to get here, and sure enough, he's panting slightly, hair in disarray. Great. Keith even beat him to his own suicide.

 

Lance is supposed to make a joke here, it's a part of his character. Normally, he'd be all over this, brushing the other paladin off with rude humor and some creative insults. But his brain is tired, Keith is not where Lance needs him to be, and nothing comes to mind.

 

"You can't even catch me. Your arm is broken."

 

"If I have to catch you with a broken arm, I will still catch you with a broken arm. I will not let you fall down these stairs," Keith grits out. He looks significantly angrier now. Typical alpha, he takes everything as a challenge. This is not what Lance needs, this is not what he wants.

 

The blue paladin is so tired.

 

"Please," he whispers, and it echoes through the silence. "Just let me do this."

 

"No, Lance. I don't know what's going through your head right now, but this is not the way to solve your problems," Keith starts off angry, tone harsh and eyes dark but by the end he's begging, as though Lance is about to rob him of something precious, irreplaceable.

 

"Why do you care?" He chokes out, completely slumped.

 

A new voice reaches out, probing and nervous in the darkness.

 

"Because we love you, Lance. And we love you, in this body, with its problems and hurts and troubles, and we love you, and your mind, with its emotions and thoughts and feelings, and we love you, our teammate, and we can't lose you, Lance." Pidge is small and desperate.

 

She approaches him, taking his hand and pulling him down with her. All of a sudden, Keith has joined them, and they rally around Lance.

 

"Lance, when you found out about me, did you think any less of me?" Pidge's voice is tentative, reaching, and he doesn't know what she's looking for.

 

"No," he says, because she's been a friend to him throughout their time in the garrison and she's still the same. She nods, looking pointedly at him, and he shrugs, feeling hopeless and stupid, a pathetic little omega.

 

"I may be a beta, but I know a little bit about hating your body. I'm stuck in a body that people call male, and with a brain that is inherently a girl. I'm a girl, but my body doesn't always reflect that and sometimes, it's so easy to _hate_ it for not being what I need it to be." The beta's voice is unconfident, choking around the harder truths.

 

"And I know, I know it's awful and your body does these terrible things that shouldn't happen, because _you're_ not like that, but-but you can't spend your whole life hating it. Physical forms are a miracle," Pidge gasps out. She takes a steadying breath, then continues.

 

"I could have ended up with fewer arms or a different brain but what I got was the wrong gender. And that doesn't make it okay, it doesn't mean I wouldn't change it if I could, but I've got to focus on what I do have, the things I can do with my mind and my mouth and my hands and my dreams, because I'm in this body for good and I've got to take care of it so I can be happy in the long run. But even if I'd been born armless or with a mental illness, there are still good things I can do, I can think, I can feel. No matter what's wrong with your body, you've got to learn to deal with it, and be happy about what you can do," and it's hard for her to say this, because she knows, she's felt the same anguish looking at a body that doesn't look the way she needs it to, doesn't fit the image she has for herself.

 

"That doesn't mean it's not hard, but Lance, if you give up here, you'll miss so much. You are flawed and that makes you perfect, because there's no other Lance like you. So please, please don't give up. I can't lose another brother, not when I just got you all back," she finishes, wrapping shaky arms around a shuddery boy.

 

Lance doesn't know what he's expected to do. He looks at Keith's knees forlornly.

 

"I think I'm part Galra," Keith blurts.

 

He receives blank stares.

 

"I just, I spent a lot of time in and out of foster care and I never really knew my parents, wasn't sure who they were or why they left me, but things have been coming together now, and. I can- I can open doors with my handprint, like the Galra can, I can see too well in the dark, and sometimes we see Galra ships and something pulls me, wants me to go toward them, like I'm looking for someone."

 

Keith coughs uncomfortably, because Lance is staring now. How can he not? The guy's the same race of their enemies. But he's Keith. He's always been on their side, always had Lance's back.

 

"Lance, I may be part Galra, but that doesn't change how I feel about you guys. Or our mission. I want to be a part of this team, I want to help, I want to protect this universe. I want to free people from Zarkon's cruelty. And I don't want to help people because I'm Galra or because I'm human, I want to help people because they deserve freedom, because I decided that is the choice- uh, the course of action that will benefit the universe. I guess, what I'm trying to say is... Being part Galra doesn't make me part evil. I choose who I am and who I want to be, and you can, too," Keith's mouth stumbled through that mess of an encouragement, but Lance feels it's affects anyway.

 

"You guys..." he whispers, the silence heavy with their support. "Thank you."

 

Keith slings his uninjured arm around him to join Pidge, then points out that they're still on the floor, at which they laugh. They stand together, still linked by curling, protective arms in a tangle of affection.

 

Something warm spreads through him, and he finally, finally feels the cold, sad hole in his chest close up. He's rising, now, and they walk back to collapse with the others. Allura and Coran are there, speaking with Shiro and Hunk, and Lance tries not to let it bother him that they're talking about him.

 

Hunk's features lift, and Lance feels a little guilt when he sees the relief evident on the face of his friend.

 

"Lance! You're okay," he exclaims.

 

Breathing deeply, feeling the support of his friends, he can let go of the little knot of upset that tells him he's weak, he's a burden, his body is a cage, and all that fun stuff.

 

He's _alive_ , and he's _free_ , and he's _loved_.

 

"Yeah," Lance agrees, and smiles.


End file.
